


Who Goes There

by missdibley



Series: The Red Veil [5]
Category: British Actor RPF, Crimson Peak (2015), Crimson Peak (2015) RPF, Ghostbusters (2016), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Allerdale Hall, Crimson Peak, F/M, Fluff, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Halloween, ghost story, ghostbusters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 13:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8404162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: Sir Thomas Sharpe and his beloved Aure are visited by a few unwelcome (though possibly well-meaning guests).





	

**Author's Note:**

> A one-shot in a series of unrelated stories that are all related to Halloween and Guy Fawkes.

“Who’s got the map?”

“I don’t have a map but rather this lovely thing called a ‘hobnob’ cookie. Do you want one, Abby? It’s terrific.”

“Jillian, I don’t need a cookie, I need our map. And why are you speaking in that fake British accent?”

“We don’t need maps! I’m going to use the GPS to navigate.”

“It’s called sat nav here, Kevin.”

“Thank you, Dr. Tolman.”

“Kevin, I’m not a doctor.”

“Yet. You’re not a doctor yet.”

“And they’re called biscuits here, Dr. Holtzmann.”

“But we still don’t have a map, Kevin.”

“Dr. Gilbert…”

“Erin! It’s Erin.”

“Dr. Erin, we’re going to use the sat nav to get us through this beautiful countryside…”

“That we can’t even see as it’s near midnight.”

“Guys, I am telling you, we are cool.”

“Patty, you always say that.”

“Dr. Almost Patty is right, Dr. Yates. We are cool. It’s 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it’s dark… and we’re wearing sunglasses.”

“Kevin, did you just quote The Blues Brothers to us?”

“It’s my favorite movie, Dr. Erin.”

“Mine too!”

“Great, Holtzmann, but it’s nearly midnight, we’re in a crappy van barreling down the wrong side of the road because we’re lost in the middle of nowhere England at the invitation of a mysterious client who wants us to clear out a house that’s on the verge of collapse.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“Look out!”

The rental van carrying the Ghostbusters, the renowned ghost hunters from New York City, and their equipment, that was being driven only a little recklessly by their secretary Kevin Beckman, came to an full and abrupt stop. For it was there, in the middle of a lonely road in a lonely corner of England, that an old woman by the name of Meredith Cormorant McMichael stood waiting.

“Is that you, Ghostbusters?” She grimaced, but the pipe in her mouth stayed firmly in place.

“Get out of that fecking thing! Yer late!”

It took a few years after the mysterious death of the young American woman Aure Saverin for the ownership of what was left of Allerdale Hall to be settled. Many in the village argued that the ruined mansion, said to be haunted for over one hundred years, belonged to the community. But the legal system declared it the property of Miss McMichael.

While she was not a relative of Aure, who had been a direct descendant of the late Edith Cushing Sharpe McMichael, Meredith claimed to be a grandniece several times removed from Dr. Alan McMichael, Edith’s last husband. She didn’t much care for the tragic, romantic legend of Crimson Peak, which was passed around as common knowledge in the north of England and through to Scotland where she had grown up. What she did care about, however, was real estate and anything that could make her money.

“I want all traces of the Sharpes out of here.” Miss McMichael gestured at the dilapidated building behind her, shaking pipe ashes off the front of her boiled wool cloak. She stood a few feet from the main entrance, shooting baleful glances at the Ghostbusters as they checked their equipment, her boot-clad feet shifting in the muddy ground.

Shrugging on her proton pack, Patricia “Patty” Tolan, Ph.D. (pending successful dissertation defense), Semiotics (Columbia University), was the first to approach the building. In the moonlight, she could discern the intricate adornments carved around the door and the surrounding windows. She made a mental note to take pictures of the structure in the morning.

“At first glance, it’s classic Victorian, with a marked emphasis on Neo-Grec, Renaissance, Gothic of course, and…” Patty squinted at the brick. “Ah, Meiji Restoration. Kind of a hot mess, architecture-wise, but respectable. Typical of the period.”

“Never mind all that, I just need it sorted.” Miss McMichael tapped her wrist bare wrist. “Time is money, ladies, and I need whatever spooks are hanging about to feck off before I sell.”

“Is there a deadline? You mentioned time was tight when we spoke on the phone.” Dr. Erin Gilbert went into her jumpsuit pocket and found the invoice she had drafted. “We charge extra for overtime.”

“I need them gone by tomorrow morning.” Miss McMichael looked grim.

Kevin snapped his fingers, then shot a wink at Erin, who blushed furiously. “Slumber party? Ooh, you girls are going to need supplies.” Before anyone could correct him, he returned to the van and began setting up a camping stove to brew hot coffee and toast marshmallows for s’mores.

“How many apparitions?” Dr. Abigail “Abby” Yates tied her auburn hair up with a stretched out hair elastic. “Two, you said?”

Miss McMichael nodded. “Two.” She paused. “A couple.”

Dr. Jillian Holtzmann grinned. “Two? A couple? That’s the same thing!”

“No!” The woman’s moustache twitched in the moonlight as she frowned. “They are, you know, a couple. Lovers, I reckon.”

“Oh!” Erin tried not to sound too gooey. She cleared her throat and collected her thoughts. “So they’re a danger to the community, then? I requested the court records from the trial, Miss McMichael. The villagers seemed to think these ghosts were not harmful.”

“That may be well and good, but if Mr. Donald J. Trump wants to make a golf course in this godforsaken corner of the world, then it’s got to be ghost free!”

“Golf? Here?” Jillian shook her head. “What an absurd idea. Now, an amusement park maybe…”

“Holtzmann, never mind that.” Erin made a few notes to the invoice, then handed it to Miss McMichael. “Revised estimate to include overtime.”

Meredith peered at the sheet. “Highway robbery but it’s too late for that now.” She shoved a burlap sack at Erin, who peeked at the contents.

“I’m sorry, but is that… gold coins?” Erin fell back when Jillian grabbed it away from her.

“Fascinating!” Jillian’s eyes sparkled from behind her yellow-tinted safety glasses. “Do all Scottish millionaires have vaults full of gold, or is it just you and Scrooge McDuck!”

“HOLTZMANN!” Abby clapped a hand over her colleague’s mouth. “Sorry about her, Miss McMichael, and thanks for your business.”

The Ghostbusters turned their heads to consider the hulking edifice before them.

“We’ll clean house,” Abby said evenly. “See you in the morning.” But when she turned to give Meredith McMichael a reassuring nod, their client had already gone.

Inside the house, Jillian marvelled at the vines that crept over the walls and wound up the grand staircase. She removed one of her thick gloves and ran her fingertips over the many flower buds, smiling to herself when they appeared to shrink back.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” she mused. “These vines aren’t actually rooted in the structure itself, so there’s no worry of further damage caused by instability.”

Patty’s eyes were wide as she looked up at the vaulted ceiling, where a ragged hole in the roof framed a dramatic view of the night sky. She let out a whistle. “An living exoskeleton. Not too bad, haunted house!”

Abby jerked her head at the stairs. “Do we think the stairs are stable enough for a trip up to the second floor?”

“What’s on the second floor?” Erin’s nose twitched in anticipation.

Just then, a long, low moan pierced the dark quiet. None of them felt a wind but just the same, a few flower petals and some dried leaves skittered across the floor.

Abby shivered. “Our gracious hosts, it would seem.”

“Don’t you mean our... “ Jillian wiggled her eyebrows. “Gracious ghosts?”

“Jillian!”

None of them seemed to notice that neither the floorboards nor the steps creaked under their feet. The four of them were too entranced by the house and how, even in its seemingly suspended state, it was still so beautiful. Now standing on the second floor landing, they gazed down at the entrance hall.

“What is that?” Abby closed her eyes. “It’s so sweet. But all these flowers are closed. We shouldn’t smell anything, should we?”

“Beats me.” Erin shrugged. “Botany was never my thing.”

“Where did that noise come from again?” Jillian held aloft an old fashioned tape recorder.

“Ooooohhhh…” That same low moan that invited them further into the house sounded again. Erin’s face felt very hot all of a sudden. She grasped at the base of her neck and looked around her.

“Is it…?” Patty nodded at a long hallway behind them. “I think that’s where it came from. What did we guess the ghosts were?”

“What class?” Abby found her smartphone and checked her notes. “Class 5, according to what Miss McMichael described. Mid-level, non-humanoid.”

“But I thought they were a couple. And a humanoid couple at that, so class 4. Effectively harmless. Do a quick catch and release with our streams,” replied Patty.

“Well, we’ve already brought them.” Erin nodded at the two traps she carried in her hands. “Better to be safe than sorry.”

“Shall we?” Jillian licked the tip of her index finger and held it up in the air.

Patty nodded. “Let’s do it.”

As they moved down the hall, a pulsing red light enveloped them. This unearthly glow exerted a slight pressure, little more than a pleasant heat that relaxed their muscles, trace humidity that made their hair curl at the brow. Jillian felt giddy, while the others were languid. Erin blinked away the mental image of Kevin lolling on her lab table, dressed only in a sash that was embroidered with the title “Mr. Ghostbuster 2016”, before handing off a trap to Abby as they arrived in front of two large doors.

_1… 2… 3…_

Jillian counted silently with her fingers, folding them down before Patty quietly pushed the doors open. This bedroom, a master suite in fact, was so inviting, resplendent as it was with ornate furniture inlaid with mother of pearl, damask wallpaper, and soft silk carpets that felt like clouds under the women’s feet. Moonlight streamed in from two open windows that flanked a large, canopy bed at the far end of the room. The filmy white curtains of the bed were drawn, waving every so often whenever another deep moan issued from within.

Patty arched an eyebrow at the others. “Uh, guys? We sure about this?”

“Sure?” Erin scoffed. “It’s just a few moans. Nothing we can’t handle.”

“You chicken, Tolan?” Holtzmann smirked.

Patty’s grip on the muzzle of her proton pack tightened. “You calling me chicken? I ain’t ‘fraid of no…”

Before she could finish, a gust of hot air hit them full on, knocking them down to the floor. It made them dizzy, and so the women were slow to get back to their feet. When they came back to their senses, they returned their attention to the bed. The curtains on the bed were now parted to reveal the ghost of Sir Thomas Sharpe as he knelt between the bare legs of the girl who was once Aure Saverin.

They didn’t seem to notice that they were being watched, engaged as they were in their lovemaking. The air in the room was heavy — with heat, with lust — yet none of the Ghostbusters could faint. They couldn’t take their eyes off these two ghosts, who were the most beautiful spectres they had ever seen.

Thomas stretched, raising his arms to pull off his sweat-soaked shirt that clung to him, and they all admired the beauty of his wide shoulders and elegant back. His trousers, which were unfastened at the waist, were tight enough that they could see the tension in his buttocks and thighs as he stayed in place. His large hands had a firm grasp as they held Aure’s legs apart, placed just so under her thighs. And nobody could ignore the obscene, beguiling sound of Thomas as he kissed and nibbled, licked and sucked upon his beloved’s sex.

Before him on the bed, Aure arched her back so much so that Erin swore she could feel the ache in her tailbone. She ran her hands over her breasts, tweaking the taut nipples that tented the fabric. The hem of her delicate nightgown rode up over her soft belly and plush hips. When Thomas freed one of his hands to brush at her stomach, only just tickling the navel, Aure laughed in delight.

Eyes squeezed shut, the sprite tugged on his curls with her hands. She urged him on, sighing and whimpering while he worshiped her.

“Thomas, please… come here, darling. I need you. Oh, my love.”

Thomas obeyed, pushing himself up off the floor in one smooth motion. Trousers slipping down, his buttocks now bared to a silent and appreciative audience. The Ghostbusters held their breaths, eyes fixated on his naked flesh as he slid his cock into her.

“Ugh.” Thomas sighed. _“Fuck.”_

He groaned in relief as he began to thrust. He was slow and deliberate, but his urgent sounds betrayed the strength of his desire and his restraint. Soon enough, his smooth and hypnotic movements became ragged, pumping faster and harder. So hard that the springs in the mattress sounded like a flock of mad birds, squeaking as they did under the vigorous efforts of their lovemaking.

Aure clung to him, biting his shoulder between the frantic kisses she was able to plant on his own lips. Her hands clawed at him, scrambling up and down his back until at last, she grabbed his hips and dug her nails in. She stiffened, a strange sort of grimace on her face as she came, long and hard.

“Oh… oh! My god, yes… yes… yes.” Out of breath and blissfully happy, her head lolled back, landing on the bed gently just as Thomas began his own release. Gasping as he did, holding her close so he could whisper his own devotions into the crook of her neck.

It was at that moment that Aure, with a tender smile, opened her eyes. Her eyes were wide as she made out, just a few feet beyond the bed, the figures of four human women staring at the two of them in complete wonder.

Her shriek of alarm pierced the air, a sort of strangled cry that broke the Ghostbusters’ heart as soon as they heard it. Thomas whipped around, just in time to see the four of them back away, stammering apologies.

Erin dropped the traps, stumbled back, and fell on top of Abby. Patty grabbed Jillian around the shoulders, clapping one hand over her partner’s eyes before squeezing her own shut. The air in the bedroom became very cold. When Patty opened her eyes again, she could see her breath in front of her. She also saw that the curtains of the bed were drawn once more. The ghost of Sir Thomas Sharpe, now fully dressed, stood defensively in front of the bed.

“You… you…” He quivered with rage. “HOW DARE YOU.”

“Please,” Jillian whispered. “We… we didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what? That it is absolutely EVIL to watch two people in a private moment, in the midst of the most intimate act of love?” Thomas spat. “That you are but mere cowards, lurking in the dark, like vultures? HATEFUL CREATURES.” He was on the verge of sobbing. “MONSTERS.”

“We’re not!” Abby’s voice broke. “We were sent here by the owner. To clear it out. She said it was haunted by ghosts.”

“We were given to believe that the ghosts were harmful and dangerous. And now,” said Erin soberly, “I suspect that nothing could be further from the truth.”

Beneath their feet, the floorboards iced over. Abby slipped a little as she stood up again, and they clung to each other as they left the Sharpes to collect themselves. When they returned to the great hall, the Ghostbusters found Kevin standing by the fireplace. A fire was lit, and a picnic was laid out for the five of them. He blanched visibly when he saw how pale they were.

“What’s up?” He poured coffee from a thermos into paper cups. “You ladies look like you’ve just seen a ghost!”

“Kevin.” Abby said sourly. “The ghosts. They’re not what we thought.”

“So what are they?” The secretary dug around in a wicker hamper, withdrawing a sandwich wrapped in paper that he handed to Jillian. “Demons? Are they gods?”

Erin shook her head. “No. They were… they…” She sighed and cast her eyes downward.

“We are the Sharpes, and this is our home.”

At the sound of his voice, the humans jumped when they saw Thomas leaning against the fireplace. His arms were folded tightly over his chest.

“So the question is, who the hell are the lot of you?”

Each of them took turns, presenting their credentials to the imperious ghost. Erin took it upon herself to explain their purpose, going so far as to produce the bag of coins left to them by Miss McMichael.

“And so you see, we were told you and, um, Mrs. Sharpe were actually more like demons. Frightening the locals…”

“Frightening?” Thomas’s eyebrows shot up. “We never go into the village, never go farther than the woods that lie just beyond the estate. If anything, we welcome trespassers here all the time!”

“Really?” Patty looked up from the scrapbook Thomas had brought to her attention, a collection of newspaper clippings that covered the history of the Sharpes, Allerdale Hall, and the death of Aure. “Welcome?”

Thomas nodded, then brushed a few dark curls out of his eyes. “In the summer, when the days are very long, people come for picnics and fetes. On the night before St. Valentine’s Day, young girls around the district make pilgrimages. They leave tokens and prayers at our doorstep, in exchange for flowers plucked from the estate or just inside the door.” He indicated the vines that covered the walls. “They seem to think taking a few of the blossoms will make them lucky in love.”

“And does it?” Erin snuck a look at Kevin, who was amusing himself by playing with a partially melted marshmallow.

“We have often seen those girls who visited us in winter return in spring the following year with husbands in tow, and heavy with child.” Thomas visibly slumped when he said the word “child” which struck a pang in Jillian’s heart.

“Guys.” She looked at Thomas while addressing her fellow Ghostbusters. “We can’t do this. This is Thomas and Aure’s home. They’re so nice.”

“But we have a job,” Erin reminded her. She plucked a gold coin from the bag. “We signed a contract, accepted payment.”

Something about the glint of it caught Thomas’s eye. He looked suspicious. “Dr. Gilbert, could you hold that closer to the fire please?”

“Whu-- what?” Erin was nervous. “Excuse me?”

Patty grabbed the coin and held it in front of Sir Thomas’s face. Leaning in together, the two of them examined it. The ghost shook his head.

“I’m sorry, ladies, but this is not real gold.”

“What?” Abby’s mouth hung open. “Are you kidding?”

Patty looked grim. “He’s right. Fool’s gold. Worthless, as far as we’re concerned.”

“And certainly nothing close to being worth the harm we did to the Sharpes,” said Jillian.

“We might forgive you,” Thomas admitted. “Well, I might. I do not dare speak for Aure.”

“Will she be alright?” Erin looked up at the second floor landing, wondering about the womanly spirit still hiding away.

“In time, which we have in abundance.” Thomas took a deep breath. “But what we seem to be losing, however, is our home.”

“Not if I can help it,” Patty said fiercely. “Actually, I think I can help it.” She tapped the cover of the scrapbook, which she opened. “Now check this out…”

When Meredith McMichael returned the following day, she was startled by the sight of the Ghostbusters van flanked by a blue van belonging to the National Trust. She parked her battered Range Rover and, leaving the engine running, ran over to investigate.

Patty was speaking, so excited was she that her words ran over each other. A handsome Asian man took notes on a pad, pausing every so often to glance at the scrapbook she held carefully in her hands.

“So you see, the history of the Sharpes goes well beyond the personal family business that has clung to this estate.” Patty tapped the pages. “I am certain if we consult further with the Natural History Museum, the British Museum in London, we can find more evidence of their contributions as philanthropists, inventors, and naturalists.”

“WHAT?!” Miss McMichael was indignant. “Those Sharpes were violent murderers!”

“That may be,” ventured Erin. “But it’s not as though Engilsh history is short of those.”

“I mean,” Kevin chirped, “Just ask Jack The Ripper.”

“Or the redcoats that fought in the Revolutionary War…” muttered Patty.

“Miss McMichael?” The Asian man’s voice was warm, making Patty’s cheeks flush slightly. “Tamal Singh of the National Trust. Dr. Tolan here…”

“Almost Dr. Tolan,” Kevin chided him. “But go on.”

Tamal grinned. “Well, it seems that, between the scrapbook, and some artifacts I was able to pull from the National Trust archives, it seems that Allerdale Hall and indeed the entire Sharpe estate may fall under our protection and care.”

“Isn’t that so convenient?” Miss McMichael sneered.

“Yes,” said Erin gaily. She shoved the sack of fool’s gold at their client, then perked up at the sound of police cars as they sped up the drive. “Isn’t it just?”

**Epilogue**

Meredith Cormorant McMichael was not, after a more thorough criminal investigation, a distant relation of Dr. Alan McMichael. Her ownership of the Sharpe estate was revoked, just in time for several warrants for arrest were issued. It seemed this was not the first time she had paid for real estate with fraudulent currency.

The Ghostbusters filed reports with the National Trust and local authorities, testifying that while the Allerdale ruins were not suitable for human occupation, neither the mansion nor the spirits within posed any danger to the living. The Sharpe estate was on the verge of being named a historic landmark, soon to be protected and cared for by the National Trust and English Heritage.

Before they returned to New York, Erin successfully planted an awkward kiss on Kevin’s ear during a scuffle involving themselves, a runaway waffle, and a waiter on roller skates at a hotel breakfast buffet. Patty promised to invite Tamal to her dissertation defense. Abby revised their contracts, adding a clause that payment must be rendered in cold hard cash or wire transfer.

As for Jillian…

“Thomas?” Aure floated down the staircase to the fireplace in the grand hall, a look of concern on her lovely face. As she passed, nearby flowers opened slowly and released their fragrance.

Thomas looked up from his book in time to welcome his love into his arms.

“What is it, love?” He combed a few stray curls from her brow. “Are you feeling better?”

She nodded. “I am.” Her eyes caught sight of his book. “What are you reading?”

Thomas frowned at the cover. “It’s Dr. Yates and Dr. Gilbert’s book, Ghosts from Our Past: Both Literally and Figuratively: The Study of the Paranormal.”

“How is it?” Aure asked.

“Very instructive. And rather amusing, I’d say.” He looked at her closely. “You know, I’m helping them write their next one.”

“Really?” Aure smiled.

Thomas nodded. “Talk to them about our experiences, how we live here.” He kissed her cheek. “How we love.”

“Ah,” replied Aure. “The great mystery of the after-life.”

“Something like that,” Thomas murmured into her ear. “And while we are on the subject, I think I have got a mystery for you right here.”

Before Thomas could begin another romantic overture, they were interrupted by a shout from just outside the door.

“Hello!” The voice was bright and cheerful. “Sir Thomas! Lady Aure!”

“Erm, okay…” Thomas left Aure curled up in the fireplace, slipping to the door just as it swung inward. A cold wind blew, sending a swirl of snowflakes inside.

On the front step stood Dr. Jillian Holtzmann, dressed for the weather in a long down coat and heavy boots. Her hands, covered in bright red mittens, held a small wooden crate.

“Sorry to barge in on you, but I was on my way to Bavaria to see my Nana for the holidays. And I thought, welllllllll, as long as I’m here, why don’t I just wing it on up to Cumbria and check in on my two favorite ghosts and here you are!” She thrust her parcel at Thomas. “Merry Christmas!”

With some effort, Thomas was able to take the box from her. He had been practicing moving and interacting with solid objects. Flipping the pages on a book was easy enough. Holding a box took a bit of effort, but he managed.

“Please, Dr. Holtzmann.” He nodded at Aure. “Join us.”

Aure watched them closely but said nothing, nodding simply when their guest gave her a tentative wave. When Thomas tried to pry the crate open, Jillian laughed apologetically before taking over the task.

“Anyway,” she said as she pried the lid off and withdrew a small bundle wrapped in blankets. “Back in New York, whenever we, ah, detain a spirit, we keep them housed. Not for long, and I assure you it is quite comfortable, before we send them on to the spirit dimension.” She looked proud. “Our facilities are stable, state of the art.”

“Is that what you’re here for?” Aure spoke softly. “To send us to the spirit world.”

“We won’t go,” Thomas said. “This is our home.”

“I know, Sir Thomas. Lady Aure.” Jillian gulped. “It’s just, it’s not often that we find specimens, spirits, that are not able to go. Or that we are unwilling to send.” She leaned in with a mischievous look on her face. “There have been some ghosts we’ve, you know, kept around. Or just moved.”

“Like a reserve? Or a zoo?” Aure sounded bitter.

“No! Oh goodness, never that.” Jillian’s cheeks were red. “Sorry, this isn’t coming out right.” She placed the bundle on the floor in front of her. “I… this is for you.”

The bundle shook, then began to wiggle. The soft blankets and pieces of flannel unraveled to reveal a puppy, or rather the ghost of one. In the flickering light of the fire, the dog was cream colored, then a soft gold, and reddish. He sniffed at the air, his muzzle twitching pleasantly. The carpet of flowers on the ground held no interest. He scurried then made a short leap into Aure’s lap. He flopped onto his back, exposing a round pink tummy for his new mistress to tickle.

Thomas looked at Jillian with a tear in his eye. “Where did you find him?”

“An old apartment on the Upper West Side, a nice neighborhood back in New York.” Jillian smiled when the puppy yawned. “There was a grumpy old ghost sort of hanging around the terrace. He was perfectly happy to leave the physical plane, just wanted an escort, I guess. But the dog?” Jillian shook her head. “The dog refused to go.”

“So what made you think of us?” Aure asked, still looking at the dog.

“We wanted to keep him ourselves but…” Jillian shrugged. “We have a big firehouse in the city, but we’ve been so busy. No time for a dog, real or ghostly.”

“We have time,” Thomas said, almost to himself. He cupped Aure’s face in his hands. “We have time, and room for him to play.”

“Does he have a name?” Aure smiled at Jillian. “What have you been calling him?”

“He didn’t have a collar, and the apartment had no records for him. So we named him after the view from the apartment. Guys, this is New Jersey.”

“New Jersey?” Aure frowned. “You named him New Jersey?”

“Yeah, the dog doesn’t seem to care for it either,” Jillian admitted.

Aure examined the puppy again. He had his paws up, covering his eyes as he settled down to sleep. She tapped the tip of his nose, then nodded at Thomas.

“Hudson. After the river, which would also be the view, no?” When Jillian nodded, Aure took the dog in her arms and snuggled him.

“Welcome home, Hudson Sharpe.” She kissed Thomas on the cheek. "And Merry Christmas, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a face claim for Hudson, and it is [Popeye The Foodie Dog](https://www.instagram.com/popeyethefoodie/?hl=en).


End file.
